#the blonde with the backwards hat made me think of kent at first but he is definitely jack

[skeletonzimms]

boy best friends playing together in juniors to bitter sort-of-exes playing against each other in pro sports is my favorite thing

[maeve-of-winter]

not at all here to change ur mind about Kent and chara because we know chara to be a softy off the ice and taking pictures of pigeons to post on social media of course he’s there for this hurt but feral blonde kitten coming into the league lost and hurt

Aw, it makes me so happy to think that other people ship Kentara! Lol, yes, Kent is the feral kitten, and Chara is the gentle giant who takes care of him and lets him cry on his shoulder in Boston when Kent's visits to Samwell end in disaster.

Also, please have this unfinished Kent/Chara WIP:

Everyone in the League knew the story of Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann. Between Zimmermann being the son of a hockey legend and an award-winning actress, the two of them being rumored to be lovers, and the two of them slated to be top draft picks of their year, culminating in Parson actually being the top draft pick, it was a story that had the hockey world spellbound for weeks. Personally, Zdeno found the fixation on the Zimmermanns’ and Parson’s pain to be both invasive and morbid. Every time he caught a glimpse on TV of some TMZ gossipmonger staking out the Aces prospect camp hotel and then badgering Parson with questions about his feelings on Zimmermann’s condition, he was flooded by renewed disgust.

The Bruins had the dubious privilege of being more familiar with the Parson-Zimmermann saga than anyone else; one of their first-year players for the season was Jordan Caron, who’d played on Parson and Zimmermann’s line in Juniors. The more gossipy of the Bruins (read: Marchy) took full advantage of this connection to attempt to scrounge up details that the press had left uncovered.

“What was he like?” Marchy asked as they stripped off their gear after practice. “Was he, like, an obvious cokehead? Coming to practice high, stuff like that?”

Caron shrugged, and even watching from the corner of his eye, Zdeno could spot the obvious discomfort on his face. “No, nothing like that. He was just an intense guy, you know? He really wasn’t like anyone who you thought would be using. Between them, Parson was the guy who liked to party. I mean, if I’d heard that one of the two of them overdosed without knowing who. . .”

Marchy and several of the younger guys continued to pester Caron with questions, but only until the end of that practice, when Chara firmly told them to knock it off, and they immediately obliged.

Whatever the gossip about Parson, whatever anyone had to say about what he did back in Juniors, no one could deny that he was a phenomenal player on the ice. It wasn’t just that he was good with the puck, either. It wasn’t just that he could score and make it look boring because it came so easily to him. He had speed. During the Olympics, Chara always made a point of watching the speed skaters, following their movements during each event and talking to them later to ask them about their techniques, hoping to improve his own skills. Chara was always conscious of needing to improve himself, always ready to give credit where it was due, so he would readily volunteer that seeing Parson effortlessly outskate any of his opponents was nothing short of incredible

It was utterly astounding to watch. In Zdeno’s experience, first-year players often needed extra help to improve their skating, struggling to catch up to the more stringent demands of the League. But Parson? He was a regular ghost out on the ice, disappearing into the corner of your eye just as you finally thought you’d pinpointed him. It was a good talent for him to possess, given that his size and scoring record made him a prime target for any rival team’s enforcers. Very rarely, however, did any of them catch up to him.

But Parson could catch up to Chara, no question.

It happened near the end of the third period of a particularly rigorous game, with the Bruins leading by one point but the Aces trying their damnedest to bring it into overtime. With Thomas starting to fade on blocking the shots and the Aces’ offense never slowing, Chara was fully expecting them to succeed.

Just as he was steeling himself for the possibility, suddenly, one of the Aces slammed into him at full speed, knocking him against the boards. As Chara fought to keep his balance and also fully realize that, yes, one of the Aces had actually attempted to board him, he vaguely registered that the same player had simply dropped to the ice in a heap. Steadying himself on his skates, Chara glanced down to find that it was Parson, the Aces’s new star and first year player, coughing and convulsing on the ice, seemingly struggling to stand.

Even though it was Parson who came at him, guilt instantly flooded through Chara as he saw the condition of the other player, and cold dread churned in his stomach as Parson let out a hacking cough, dark blood surging out from his throat to splatter across the ice.

Chara didn’t hesitate for a moment before signalling for a ref to halt play at the first opportunity.

It wasn’t until the end of the game, after the Bruins just barely scraped out a win over the Aces, that Chara fully understood what had happened. Parson had lost one of his skate blades mid-stride and, unable to control his direction any longer, plowed straight into Chara. The impact had knocked the wind right out of him and left him with a bloody nose. He’d fallen to the ice, barely able to wheeze in breath, while blood from his nose dripped down his throat as he tried and failed to stand up and locate his missing blade.

Parson somehow found him that night at the bar where the Bruins were celebrating their victory and apologized, backwards snapback hat on his head in all its glory. (It was just beginning to be recognized as his trademark.)

“I’m sorry about what happened during the game,” Parson told him, looking at him directly with an unflinching gaze. “It really was an accident. I really wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Chara stifled a snort at the idea of Parson, who stood nearly a foot shorter than him and easily weighed at least fifty pounds less, deliberately headhunting him on the ice. He’d either have to be incredibly stupid or a complete goon, and he’d seen the way Parson played and knew he was neither.

“No need to apologize,” he told Parson, hoping that his accent didn’t obscure the sincerity in his voice. “What happens on the ice is fine to leave on the ice. We know this time was an accident and not a dirty play.”

“Thanks.” Parson’s lips tugged up a little bit, like he might smile, and suddenly Chara found himself overcome by the distinct desire to see it out in full force. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Parson offer up anything in interviews but a cocky smirk.

“You should let me buy you a drink, though,” Chara continued, letting a playful warmth flood his tone. “To show you I understand your apology.”

Parson laughed and ducked his head slightly, and Chara got his wish fulfilled as he glimpsed a small smile playing across his mouth. Combined with the faint pink tinge in his cheeks, it was, Chara decided, a very good look for him.

[softkent]

snow, snuggles, and shitty

Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Jack Zimmermann & Shitty Knight Rated M Tags: Snowed In, Injury Recovery, Anxiety, Coming Out, Temporary Mobility Aid Chapter 1/?  2.1k words 

for @parsebingo​ squares  snowed in, injury, recovery, shower sex, bed sharing.

read on ao3

Before the Aces announce Kent being put on IR, he texts Jack, asking if he could come for a quick visit while his knee rests. Of course Jack immediately thinks of how it would be to wake up next to Kenny again, to just be close to him, but his rational side speaks first.

Doesn't the team need your support? What about training? Kit needs--

Kent fields the questions sufficiently enough for Jack to concede. He books his flight before Jack can change his mind.

Jack isn't worried. Really. Everything is going to turn out fine. None of this is going to cause him any problems. Everyone won't think anything of Kent coming to visit him. The world knows they're friends. His friends know he and Kent are friends. No one will look beyond that.

Okay, Jack's worrying a little. He's talked things over with Kent, who reassured him for the hundredth time that things are gonna be fine, but Jack's anxiety didn't get the memo. He takes in a long breath through his nose and puffs it out through his mouth in a frustrated sigh.

With everyone else out for classes or studying, Jack has the Haus to himself, awaiting Kent's arrival. He’s picking away at the blanket covering the green couch waiting for Kent to knock on the front door. With each passing minute, Jack comes up with more reasons for Kent not to be here. He'll hate the Haus, the couch, berate Jack for using the roof as a room, and so on. He realizes all these passing problems aren't real. Kent wouldn't judge him.

A rapping on the door makes Jack jump out of his thoughts.

“Ziiiiiimms!” he can hear Kent whining a little muffled out on the porch. “I’m freezing out here!”

Jack gets up and jogs to the door. When he swings it open, a gust of biting wind blows into the house followed by a shivering Kent with the help of crutches. He watches as Kent bends down to unlace his boots.

“You’re the one that wanted to come visit me in winter,” he reminds him, reaching out to hold his shoulder when he sees Kent swaying a little with his weight on his bad knee. “Here, let me,” he says in a huff.

He bends down himself to untie the boot himself. Kent looks away from Jack’s ministrations and bites at his lip. If it weren’t for the cold outside, Jack thinks the pink on his cheeks is from the embarrassment of needing help.

“Thanks,” Kent whispers when Jack sets his boot beside the other near the other shoes littering the entrance way. “We, uh, we alone?”

Jack stands up, taking his time to let a smile spread across his lips when he’s looking down at Kent’s hazel eyes. He nods, knowing what’s coming. He throws his arms out to steady them both when Kent jumps forward, grabbing Jack’s face and bringing him down into a kiss.

Immediately, Jack is pulled back into the thousands of kisses they’ve shared over the years. Kent’s hands are cold, but sure holding his face like it’s something precious. They’re chests press firmly together. Jack bends down a little to make the reach easier on Kent with his one good leg. Jack’s chapped lips catch a little against Kent’s, but neither of them pay it any mind.

Kent pulls back enough to smile wide at Jack. He’s familiar with this look--so open and warm. Jack knows he looks the same--looks like he’s brimming with love. He leans in to press a peck to the corner of his smile.

“Thank you for coming,” Jack whispers to him and slips his hands firmly around his boyfriend’s middle--holding him close as he buries his face into his neck to breathe him in.

“Hey,” Kent says, patting Jack’s back. “Don’t mention it. This is a completely selfish trip.”

They laugh for a moment as they appreciate each other’s presence. Jack can’t remember the last winter he felt this warm. Jack’s foot nudges Kent’s bag, making a point and distracting him from the flood of butterflies in his stomach.

“Want me to get this upstairs? I can’t have you eating it trying to juggle things while climbing the stairs with that,” Jack explains, nodding to his crutches.

Kent rolls his eyes. “I got up that hell of a sidewalk all on my own, big guy, with ice! I think I can handle a few steps.”

Jack puts his hands up in defeat. “Alright. Guess you don’t need me to carry you up either, then.” His boyfriend’s eyes go wide for a second and he opens his mouth to protest. “No, no. It’s all good. You can handle yourself.”

“That was before I knew you carrying me was an option. You know how much I...enjoy you lifting me.”

“Or is it why I’m usually lifting you that you enjoy?” Jack asks, walking off into the living room.

Kent hobbles after him, scoffing. "Well, nobody told me that was on the table!"

He collides into Jack with groping, hopeful hands. Jack keeps their balance, again, and wonders if he'll end up getting injured himself before Kenny heads back to Las Vegas. He still wasn't sure how long Kent will be staying.

Like he'd suggested, Jack quickly bends his knees and gets his hands under Kent's ass. He lifts him up to wrap his legs around him, giving him ample time to steady himself without hurting his knee and starts walking up the stairs, duffle bag forgotten by the front door.

“Jackie-boy! You aren’t going to buh-lieeeeve what that white supremacist asshat said in class today,” Shitty yells once he’s inside the Haus, knocking the snow off his boots.

He looks up when he doesn’t get his usual hello. A few feet down the hall is a duffle bag next to a pair of crutches. He toes off his boots without bothering to unlace them and hops in stocking feet away from the entryway in an attempt to avoid wet socks.

Shitty peeks into the living room. Jack’s school stuff is on the coffee table with the TV off. He looks back to the duffle bag and crutches. On top of the bag, an Aces hat is resting upside down. One of Shitty’s eyebrows shoots up as a large smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth.

Before Shitty heads upstairs to put away all his class shit, he picks up the duffle bag and tucks it beside the stairs, out of the way, and picks up the crutches. Since nobody’s down here, whoever needs them is probably going to need them getting down here. Though he’s pretty sure he knows who must be up there with Jack, he doesn’t let himself fully think it. Jack’ll tell him, or he’ll find out eventually. No need to ponder it. He thinks about knocking on Jack’s closed door, but instead quietly leans the crutches beside it and tiptoes down to his door.

Jack wants to thank his therapist for suggesting he focus his schedule around morning classes. He knows it was meant to help him get up and out of the house first thing so he won't have time to dwell and build up his anxiety, still being partially asleep, but if one of the perks is the entire afternoon in bed with his boyfriend maybe he should send her some flowers...

"You sure you don't wanna do online school and come live with me?" Kent asks through his heavy breathing and blissed-out expression, laying naked and half on top of Jack. "I could get used to this."

Jack rolls his eyes and catches his own breath for a second. "You sure you don't want to get traded to the Falconers or something?" Jack asks with a smile, thinking back to all the times they've joked about this. "I could definitely get used to you being here."

Kent smacks what he can reach of Jack's ass and slides off of him onto the other side of the bed. He curses having forgotten to watch out for his leg and readjusts to stretch it out.

"Did you lie to me about the PT guy saying this was okay?"

"No! I would never lie about sex, Zimms."

"I meant coming here in the first place...Wait, did you really ask about sex?"

Kent laughs and nods. "Hell yeah, I did! Gotta ask the important questions: sex, showering, and driving. All of which are completely good-to-go."

Jack pulls Kent to him, letting him rest his head against his chest and places a quick kiss to the top of his messy, blond hair. "Does that mean you're ready to go again?"

Kent kisses Jack’s chest with a smile and licks his nipple in a fast, completely unsexy way. Jack finches away with an unexpected giggle, shielding his other nipple from Kent with his hand. From the glimmer in Kent’s eyes, he knows he’s a goner. Jack has never won a tickle fight in his life.

As the guys trickle on back home from a day of boring classes while they were wishing they were out playing in the snow or even just at home sleeping, the sky gets darker and the snow’s falling faster. When Holster stumbles in past the wind, the snow building in front of the porch is halfway up his shins.

Jack and Kent are warm up in bed with Jack’s laptop perched on his knees playing a cat video Kent insisted they had to watch before Jack could play another YouTube video in some series called Facts You Wish You Didn’t Know About Our Past Leaders.

Kent tells him again with deadly sincerity, “you can only go so far down to YouTube rabbithole before you come up for air and a good ole cat video and restart the cycle or you’ll end up watching some of the weirdest ever made by man at three am questioning reality.”

Jack’s giggles shake his stomach and computer so much the screen tips back so neither of them can see the video anymore, only causing his laughing to increase.

“You goober,” Kent chuckles and moves the laptop to the nightstand after pausing the video. “I think that’s enough of YouTube before we go insane.”

“Goober? Really?”

Kent tries to push Jack off the bed, but Jack grabs onto his arm. They shuffle back and forth for leverage until Kent tips backwards, head towards the floor, with Jack sliding over top of him. They’ve half laughing, half screaming when someone knocks on the door.

“You dyin’ in there?” Shitty yells through the bathroom door.

Jack tries to right himself, but Kenny slides out from under him to the side, causing Jack to slip onto the floor.

“Ow! Told you I’d end up injured! Nah, Shitty. Nobody’s dying!” Jack yells back to him.

He’s about to tell him to come in and say hi to Kent when he remembers their clothes are still next to his door instead of covering them up. He glances up to where Kent is sitting stark naked without a single iota of modesty, legs fully splayed, and stifling his laughter behind his hand.

Along his neck are a few red marks popping against his lightly tanned skin. A few streak trail down Kent’s chest where Jack’s fingernails traversed his body down to his hips earlier to get better leverage. In the back of his mind, he’s glad Kent won’t be stripping down in a locker room full of chirps and interns taking photos for social media.

“Alrighty, brah. What do you want for noms? Dining hall closed early ‘cause of the storm. I’m thinking pizza,” Shitty yells to him.

Kent looks at him expectantly. When Jack doesn’t answer straight away, he nods at him and motions to the door. Jack relents and tells Shitty they’ll be down soon.

“I thought you might want to avoid everybody for as long as you could…,” he mumbles while picking up his pants.

“Why would I do that? Hey, look at me…” Kent says, voice laced with concern. He waits until Jack turns back to him before he goes on, “I love you and am part of your life. I’m not going anywhere or trying to hide from your friends. I know you have good taste, so I’m sure we’ll get along.”

Jack looks away with a nod. The voice of his anxiety isn’t reality. Sometimes, it’s just so hard to separate the two. The nagging feeling that Kent’s just saying things to make him feel better sits in the back of his mind, but he choose to trust what he’s saying. Kent came all this way. He wouldn’t have done that just to hook up.

“Yeah, I know you’ll like ‘em.”

[awellboiledicicle]

Ok So I got to Spring year 2 and Kent came home from war, and i’m dating Sam, so it’s all interconnected-- but knowing me, I wouldn’t put together “gruff man coming home to the valley from war” with “Sam/Vincent’s dad” when I first met Kent.  So the following probably occurred:

When Kent hiked out to Hard Rock Farm, the packed earth path went from the uneven land that was maintained by the city to owner maintained... something. The pathway up was crushed down brighter white stones that lead up to larger colored stones set into the dirt where the white ended.  There was a small sign at the top of the way that said “dolomite, pardon the dust”. The fact it was next to a giant slab of gemstone that was clearly meant to be a stepping stone was.. likewise interesting. The house, at least, looked mostly normal.  There were fruit trees along the cliff to the front, a cat lazing on the porch, a green lawn, and... was that a chicken statue in the window? It was. It was definitely a giant wooden chicken staring out the window at him. It was wearing a top hat. Well, at least the coops in the distance looked normal? 

He knocked on the door and he really didn’t know what to expect. Jodi had insisted that this.. Farmer Mok was a good person. A little prone to getting caught up in talking about something if you let them, a little oblivious occasionally, very passionate about things. Likes flowers and chickens. Most of that information came from Vincent, actually, who heard them talking about the farmer and started talking like it was his job. Apparently they help his teacher occasionally and ‘put cool things’ in the library. Sam ignored the topic and fled the room with a joja cola when Kent had tried to ask him about them, so he took that to mean there may have been a problem between the two-- that or there wasn’t much to say. The door gave him a bit more insight into the farmer, because there was a mezuzah hanging along side it. There was also a series of light catchers on the small window on the actual door.

When the door finally opened, he didn’t know if he was surprised or not.  Short, with broad shoulders and a wide face. A worn blue hat covered their head, but he could see sunburn that stretched to the hairline. Glasses.  Armed with a sword. “Uh.. Good morning? Can I help you?” He shifted a bit, suddenly aware he was a stranger at home again.  “Yes, hello. My name is Kent. I’ve been gone for awhile... overseas.” A look of recognition seemed to flash through their eyes and their posture shifted, he recognized it as the one most people held talking to old vetrans. He didn’t know how to feel about that. “My wife told me a new farmer moved in while I was gone and I wanted to come say hello. So, hello.” “Well then, my name’s Mok--” They nodded and held out a hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Kent! Good to have you home!” They shook hands and he went home feeling very good about this meeting in general.

And then Farmer Mok went to see their boyfriend Sam, completely missing out, mentally, on the fact that Kent was Sam’s dad. Because it was planting season and they were tired and they just wanted to relax after climbing up and down hills. 

So, they squelched their way through the Cindersnap forest, lamenting the fact that there wasn’t a hard road to walk on. Also that they decided to plant the back 15 acres with the crops and the front 15 acres with flowers and the side garden with house food and the greenhouse with exotics. Also known as they wanted to go to Jodi’s, have tea, and listen to Sam practice his guitar and maybe fall asleep on him.  “Hey, Jodi?” They called as they opened the door and kicked off their shoes, hanging up their jacket. “You in from cardio?” She poked her head around the corner from the kitchen and laughed. Jodi watched them come further into the house, stretching their back out. “You surviving planting season?” “There is no survival, only seeds.” They let out a groan as the sound of Vincent running out of his room got both of their attention. “I hear my favorite little boy running in the house.” “Sib!” The little boy jumping on their back didn’t kill them, but it felt like it. “Did you bring dessert? Mom’s making lentils and--” “Oof.” Be strong, Mok. For the kiddo. Jodi was rushing forward to take him, but they were determined to keep together till she got there. “Not today, but I have a nice pink cake planned for shabbot, Why don’t you help mama Jodi with dinner so you’ll like it, picky boy?” “But--” Jodi finally pulled Vincent off their back and they tried very hard to hide their gasp. They caught the arrival of Sam and his stealth thumbs up from his doorway, though. Most skilled datemate. Them. Yup. “C’mon, honey, lets get working on some tea so we can have some with dad when he comes back from his walk!” Bless this mom. “Okay.” Vincent didn’t look entirely convinced, but he was in the grasp of his mom now. You really can’t argue while in the air. You can, but you will lose.  “I will now babysit your other child till dinner.”  Jodi paused on her way to the kitchen, Vincent making a yuck face, and gave them a knowing look. “Door open, Sam.” The sound of Sam putting his head on his door jam kinda echoed.  “Mom, we’re gonna listen to music and talk about aliens. Oh my god.” “Door open.” “Yes ma’am.”  Sam got dragged into his room so the farmer could flop face first onto his mattress, knees on the floor and groan. He laughed and plopped down next to them. “Oh yeah, we’re getting really wild in here-- glad mom made us keep the door open. May need to pop the window.” They very politely flipped him off. He leaned down and kissed the top of their head, earning a small mrrph. “You’re cute when you’re wishing death on the world.” He flopped sideways and ruffled their hair, waiting for them to get done with the following half hearted yell into his blanket. They looked up at him with the same expression that Sebastian often had when he explained an error to him that had been a pain in the ass for weeks, and had actually had a simple solution. The Rubber Duck Sam look. The ‘thank goodness i have you because otherwise i would run into the brick wall of myself’ look. Sam preferred the Rubber Duck term because he could imagine himself as one of those cool rubber ducks with a guitar and sunglasses. “I’m adorable and never want to see another seed in my fucking life.” “You’re kinda a farmer, I think that’s gonna happen. Upside, you have cute animals too?” They sat back, arms flopping up onto the bed, with one hand coming up to pap lightly at his cheek. “I have to feed and water those animals. The fattest ones crawl in my hoodies and tickle my neck.” Sam rolled over so they were face to face, feet kicking in the air. “I am not seeing a downside.” They gently grabbed onto his cheeks, put their foreheads together and stared deeply into his eyes. “You are adorably, infuriatingly, amazingly optimistic. You big, soft, loveball.” He snorted, slightly ruining it, but that was ok because by all standards pizza breath is not as bad as other things. Sam pulled them up, and they came pretty willingly as snuggles seemed about to happen and they were correct-- though he very quickly lived up to his trickster reputation by tickling them.  “I have a reputation--” “No--” They pushed his pillow into his face, eyes closed behind their soft defence. “Saaam, please, i’m tiiired.” He stopped tickling them, also probably waving off his mother who had appeared to put a stop to anything going on. Bless Jodi, because she let the two be with a quick ‘door stays open’ mouthed to Sam.  “Ok, fine. Sorry for making it worse.” To his credit, he did sound sorry. They flopped fully back on his bed and kinda sunk in. “I wouldn’t fall asleep though, mom might not let that one go.” “That’s fair.” “So.” He crossed his legs and gave them one of his big, goofy smiles. “What’d you do today? Aside of plant seeds, i mean.” They groaned again and he laughed, rubbing at their hand in sympathy. “Don’t laugh, you goober. I had to buy twice as many seeds as I thought and the ground by the river was so muddy-- I thought the bridges were going to sink into the water! I couldn’t let the animals out, and I probably can’t till it all dries out and they’re grumpy.” A sigh bigger than the house. “And some random guy showed up this morning? Is that a thing here, you move in or something and you have to go say hi to everyone?” There was a pause in Sam’s supportive ‘mhmm’ing and the rubbing on their hand had turned to a slight twitching. Checking his face, he had a kind of unreadable expression-- at least from their angle. So, they sat up and he was looking off into the middle distance... trying not to laugh. “Babe... was this guy...” He snorted and they frowned at him. “Was this guy a blond. Was he.” “Yeah, why?” “Babe.” “Sam, what are you laughing at.” “Was he kinda tall and wearing a military jacket.” Sam was keeping a very serious tone, now, but between the actual talking, it was very obvious he was about 3 breathes away from collapsing. “....oh my god.” They looked at him, to the middle distance and back. “oh my god.” “Babe. My dad got back last night.” Sam promptly fell backwards off his bed, between the wall and said bed while Farmer Mok lowered themselves down back onto the blankets and placed his pillow onto their now red face. “If you would just apply heavy, constant pressure until I stop breathing, that’d be great, babe.” It was a muffled deadpan, but Sam heard it and managed to sit up and put his head on their arm and shake his head no through his laughing. “Just kill me now, that’d be great. Leave my chickens to Shane.” “Hun, nooo.” “You are not killing me, to save me from living with this shame a moment longer than I have to, like a loving and devoted boyfriend would do.” There was a pause from under the pillow and Sam tried to calm himself down, patting their shoulder. “I am very disappointed. I thought you loved me enough to kill me instantly in an emergency.” “I’ve literally told you about him coming home, for weeks!” “I’m filing a complaint with the boyfriend store. ‘Too attractive and laughs at me’.” He let out another guffaw as they sat up and smacked him on the head with the pillow before he got back on the bed and hugged them. “Besides, he looked too short to be your dad.” “I can’t stop laughing--” He gasped. “Besides, what did you expect my dad to be, a giant? Just to walk in here, be 9 feet tall?” “The height has to come from somewhere!” They gestured to all of him, starting to giggle in spite of themselves. “I mean, it certainly didn’t come from Jodi, she’s my size!” “Are-- are you implying--” He looked faux-offended, trying not to laugh. “That my- that my mom fucked a giant. Is that what you are.. i can’t. oh my god.” “Respect your elders, Samson. Your very large elders.” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You know, go far enough back, and they’re your elders too.” “Are you saying...” They took a deep breath and looked him dead in the eyes. “Jacob... was a giant.” “Oh, honey.” He placed a hand on their shoulder. “You’d be taller if he was.”

There was a beat of silence as they stared at him.

“Now I have to smother you, because you called my god punching nephew short. And also me short. And--” “You’d have to reach first--” “OK, FIRST OF ALL--”

Meanwhile Jodi is explaining to Kent that no, this is just how they bond